Dear blog
by chuxter
Summary: A witty story told in a succession of blogs by an American living in an English army camp who gets sent into a book by her friend and his machine, object of the visit being to learn some manners. Not your usual fic eh?
1. Bloody hell, Daz!

_Blog:_

I was lying on my bed listening to Alice in Chains, it was this song, rotten apple, I couldn't get it out of my head so I went and bought the album.

You guys all know I love rock music, I'm always at the local rave parties wearing that little black lolita dress, you've probably seen me around, I have the pale face, the black lipstick and the streaks of vibrant blue in my hair, you can't miss me!

So anyway, there I was, Ipod playing old rock music, quite happy with my life, then Daz came in, people tend to do that; they don't knock, they just walk straight in to my house, well, I guess they take the phrase 'treat it like a home' seriously.

My cat was lying on the bookshelf across from me, one eye opened and looking out from her bushell of fur, i found myself imagining her standing up and limping around with a little kitty hunch-back, quite the mad scientist, my cat.

Daz walked in to my room, "Come on darling, it's almost time for lunch, let's go shopping in town and grab a bite to eat in subway." subway, he loved subway, he was obsessed with his health, he was so strict on the 5-a-day rule he was practically vegitarian.

"Sod off Daz." I replied in a most polite manner, perhaps a pillow did slip from my hand and hurtle across the room into his face, but I can't be sure, I didn't do it purposefully you see, honest.

He gasped, "Bitch!" and _threw _the pillow at me, now what did I do to deserve that?

Now let's get one thing straight, Daz _isn't _gay, he just grew up in a camp of butch men and felt like being different, then promptly on the day of his fourteenth birthday he realised that about ninety percent of those butch men had 'the hots' for him, depite the fact that only five percent of them were gay.

You see, Daz grew up on an army camp, he wasn't the only one, there were loads of other kids but I was the only girl, so it was my clothes he stole when he felt like shocking the commanders, it really irritated them, quite funny really.

Anyway, he was quite clever, he had made this thing you see, that could shove you into a random book and you'd live it like it was real and meet the characters and all that, I dunno, I ain't a scientist, I just moved here from America when I was eleven, and hell it's different, like, in America to be cool you have to follow mainstream fashion, but over here it's the other way round, you have to be as different as you can, they have like a bazillion different names for fashions, and they actually do drink tea over here, and Daz looks disgusted every time I mention coffee, and they wear suits and all the boys go to church every Sunday, they say it's not like this outside the camp, but I betcha it is.

Another thing is the weather, they never shut up about it, you know, they meet someone they haven't seen for years and they're just like, 'so, how's the weather where you're living?'  
Not to say they don't have good reason; Daz says you can see all four seasons in one day here 'cos the weather changes so quick, then Jet usually says, 'the four seasons, yeah, spring - rain, summer - showers, autumn - storms, winter - floods.', Jet says he's not a pesimist or an optimist, he says he's a realist and that's why he calls England 'Narnia', no point denying it, he says.

Anyway, Daz got out his weird book thing like whatever, he's not gonna use that on me, duh.  
"You need to learn some manners." he says, "Sorry, but it's true.", he's pointing it at me, he's pressing buttons, I'm not scared, he won't use it.  
A blue flash, crap! He's using it! Where the hell's he sending me? Where the HELL is he sending me? OH MY GOD!

HORSES! I HATE HORSES!! Where are the police, where?

I run up to this guy, dark hair, darker eyes, a little bowler hat, I grab his coat, "Where are the police? Help, I need the police!" no idea what I'll actually _tell _the police, but you gotta try, I look down at myself, I look like crap, I'm wearing this long cream and blue dress with _full length sleeves _and it goes right up to the top of my neck and down to the floor, talk about frigid, must be victorian London, wow what a guess.

This guys still there like, "I am a policeman, what's the matter?" Christ, what an accent, pure British, I like that accent a lot.

"No you can't help me," My heads in a spin, I'm dazed and confused and by the looks of things he's a bit confused too, "I need someone to help me find something." namedly, the future.

"What? A purse? A broach?" he asks, the accent, oh the accent.

"No," I laugh, "It's a bit harder to find than that, maybe even impossible."

Next thing I know the little guy's got a cab, piled me into it and we're driving off to god knows where, my first instinct is to yell things like 'abduction' and 'rape' but then I look at his frigid little face and decide that it would probably kill him just to _hear_ those words, let alone actually _doing _the things.

The journey is bumpy as hell, like being dragged backwards by a camel through a plastic safari park, I already suffer from travel sickness as it is, this is just going too far!  
I grip onto the little guys arm, my head feels like it's been attached to a spinning top, he seems less than comfortable with me gripping onto him like this, oh well, to hell with what he wants, I'm scared and ill so he'll just have to live with it.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't know your name, I'm Inspector Lestrade, and you?"

Oh so it's last names is is? That's how you wanna play, I tell him my surname and he's like 'oh, really?' eyebrows raised and voice one notch higher, look at him, trying to stop himself from being judgemental, prat.

Thanks for reading my first blog post guys, if you like it I'll tell ya more.


	2. Nicknames

_Blog:_

So there's this guy, Sherlock Holmes, he's like, from a book, I think he was a famous policeman right?

That's where that Lestrade guy took me; to see Sherlock Holmes.

When we went in there was this grumpy looking old man there who said he was Mycroft Holmes, _My-croft? Sher-lock? _I think someone's parents smoked a bit too much wacky-backy when they were naming their kids.  
I mean, I though _my _name was bad! Christ!

So I walk in and they stand up like whatever, sit down cocaine-names, then I see this lion in the corner, okay, he isn't a lion, but his skin is like brown and he has wide eyes and a feirce jaw, when Lestrade told them I had lost something incredibly important and highly irretreivable the lion man loomed forward and I wanted to scream, I thought he was gonna eat me or something!  
He has this keen hungry look in his eye, scares the hell outta me! He's called Wiltson or something, but to me he will always be lion-man and his friend will be cocaine-name, their nicknames will be, hmmm, LM and CN, no, how about Lemmy and Conan? Yeah, Lemmy and Conan, I like that, it's good, suits 'em.

So Conan's like soz I'm busy you guys, except in victorian lingo, which is more like, "My deepest apologies but at the moment my skills and attentions are required elsewhere." with a gentle movement of his hand towards uh, My-Croft, hmm, MC, MC what? MC House! Yeah, that's his name! MC House!

MC House is like yeah we iz goin to da rave in da huge moshpit man, ya comin? But it was more like, "Yes, me and my dearest brother were just about to attend a concert in the Royal London Theatre, would you care to join us?"

Umm, Lestrade, Lest-rade, LR, Lorry, woop, Lorry in da house! Anyway, yeah, Lorry was like, Na mayte gotta get 'ome innit? woman i rent from is bein a bitch bout curfews. Or in his words, "I probably shouldn't, my landlady is being very irritating about when she goes to bed and I don't fancy the thought of her locking me out."

I decide to take the piss; in a very British accent, "Oh _do _come along Inspector, it shall be very bland without you." They all look at me, it's the first time I've spoken and they seemed to accept the accent, clearly there's something wrong with what I said, a bit of colour has risen to the Inspectors cheeks and he's stuttering, I find colour rising to my own cheeks, _what did I say? _

Next thing I know, all five of us are in another one of them bloody carriages, me squidged between Lemmy and Lorry with MC house and Conan across from us, spacious for them, lucky bastards.

Don't know how I'll get in to this concert, I have no money and none of them seem to have caught on to the fact I was taking the mick; they all think I was being serious, _I'm_ not going to some posh music concert, no thank you.

Or maybe I am, uh-oh.

P.S. Sod of Alex08, if you don't like it don't comment, I always swear so get over it!

And as for you Smexii-danii, It _is _true, why would I lie? If you don't believe me ask Daz! GOD! Some people!

XCheekyXChimpX, yeah, it was foggy, and rainy, and windy, and it was all drab looking, definately not a top holiday location!


	3. Opera

_Blog:_

So there I was, squidged into some God-awful carriage with a load of strangers driving me christ knows where in the middle of a foggy, rainy, book city with no idea how I was gonna get home, no plans for where I'd stay in the meantime and the impending fate of the Opera looming over me ever faster.

In short, uh-oh.

And these guys are real weird, like. I mean, come on, since when did Bethoven become topic for conversation, and another topic was conversation itself, how boring is that?  
I was sat there in that damned carriage for ten minutes listening to, 'Oh yes, Gregson definately holds an interesting conversation but he puts too little effort into communication for my liking.' that was Lorry and the comment caused a few silent smiles and raised eyebrows elsewhere in the carriage.

"Yes," Conan agreed, a subtle hint of amusement playing on his tongue, "He is rather bland, but it just reminds us all to be so thankful for _your _intelligence inspector."

Lorry tilted his head and said 'oh, well.' smiling quite modestly at the compliment.

This is the thing with England, I swear, they have six topics that they go over continuously and they never talk about anything else, _ever_;

1. The weather.

2. Conversation with other people.

3. Their life experiences/story.

4. (In 2008) Global warming.

5. Football.

6. The 'Politically Correct' debate

And these are all rarely touched upon as subjects in conversation in other countries, so why do it here?  
I'll tell you, it's because they're all English, and it's so easy to be English, like, this guy I know called Karl got stopped in the street and asked, 'how long does it take to become English?' and he said, 'As long as it takes to be born in an English hospital.' and he was right; if you're born here you grow up talking about these things despite the fact your parents are from South Africa and you eat crocodile burgers in your spare time, you will grow up to be unquestionably English, you'll talk about football and the weather and Global warming and no one will even mind because we're so mixed here anyway, if we tried to keep track of who was English and who was German or Russian or American or even African, all our brains would just explode, and there really isn't any point in that.

So we reach this huge theatre and Lorry is obliged to pay for my ticket, he's like, 'a lady shouldn't be left to pay for herself.'

So I was like, "How non-PC is that?"

"Urmm.. Yes, I'm not a police constable." he said, a look of confusion spread across his face.

Then came the music. Ohhh, the music! It went on for _hours, _I thought I was gonna die! D-I-E die.  
I have _never_ been so bored at a concert _in my **life, **_that's right, _my LIFE!_

I was there like, 'why me, oh God, why me? I'm too young to die!' I almost broke down into tears, and I would have if I hadn't thought people would think me mad if I started weeping in the middle of Bethoven's fifth symphony, but then again, Conan was on the end of the row with Lemmy the lion and he looked worse than me, he had his eyes shut, his nose in the air and his fingers were tapping the chair so ecstatically I thought he was gonna have a fit, I was sure his tiny little victorian heart just couldn't take it!  
I mean, honestly, the kid looked like he'd been taking snuff!

So anyway, yeah, nothing else to say about the concert really, you might fall asleep if I try!

P.S.

The Fool's Hope, I did _too_ grab Lestrades collar when I met him, if you don't believe me then sod off, he practically had a heart attack and you can read the book, 'an extraodinary encounter' to find out about it!

And as for you Kadal, I'm NOT lying, for God's sake, why would I lie about something as boring as that? GOD! Some people really don't have a clue!


	4. SAY SUMMIN BITCHES

_Blog: _

So when we were in the coach back they asked me where I was staying and I was like, "Nowhere, that's what I was trying to tell you, I'm lost and I don't know how I got here, well I sort of do, but I dont."

They just stared at me, blinking, like 'what the hell??' Until eventually I gave up and said, "Well _somebody _say _something!_"

They all looked at eachother, no one had any words to say I guess.

Eventually Lorry spoke, "How did you get here?"

"This guy I know, Daz, he sent me here." i said, like whatever, catch up, don't you read my blog? 'Cos I mean, practically half the internet does y'know. Oh yeah, no internet..

P.S.

The Fool's Hope, ewwww no Conan is not cute, neither is Lorry and as for the rest, well, they go unspoken for, freaks. If you wanna see 'em I'll put up pics an' shit.

And Kadal, G-E-T L-O-S-T I ain't LYING, GOD! If ya don't believe me go check out the pics I put up for TFH and if you still don't then sod off. To put it politely like.


End file.
